


Understanding

by Jaxon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Cokeworth, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 17:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12846408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaxon/pseuds/Jaxon
Summary: Severus doesn't understand his mother.





	Understanding

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a story where Severus bonded with Tobias. A Tumblr user requested a similar bonding fic with Severus and Eileen.

She’d heard it all before. From Mrs Booth over the road, Gracie down the street, and even Francis in the corner shop.  But somehow, the words stung all the more when she heard them in his little boy tone, his high pitch retelling events of which no child should even be aware.

“Yer should leave ‘im.”

“Oh yes?  And what would become of you then, Severus?”

He pressed his tiny fingers into the gold foil of the milk bottle, causing the indent that would permit him to lift the seal.  He raised the bottle unsteadily, both hands holding the cool glass tightly, and jutted out his tiny jaw in an act of defiance so reminiscent of his father.  “I’ll be right.  Yer should go.”

She forcibly wrenched the bottle from him, and poured a disappointing splash into his tea - barely enough to turn the black liquid a deep brown.

“Mam!  Mam!  More!”

“The milk’s got to last until Thursday,” she huffed, and capped the bottle.  “Honestly, if I left you and your father, you’d be drinking beige tea-”

“I like beige tea!”

“-and begging on Woolworths’ corner by the end of the week.”

* * *

“Da says yer should stand up to bullies.”

“Does he now?”

“Yeah, like that Johnnie Laycock down the mill.”  Severus nodded tightly.  “Need to stand up to ‘im.  He’s a bully.”

“Is he really?”

“Yeah, Da says so. An’ yer got to stand up to bullies, son.”

She gave a tight smile. “Good for you.”

“Yeah, I’ll stand up to ‘im.  When I’m grown.”

“Johnnie Laycock? He’ll be an old man by the time you’ve grown.”

“No.  Not ‘im.”  He stared at her, his black eyes not breaking contact with her own.  “Da.”

She stared at her little boy.

“…he’s a bully, int he, Mam?”

* * *

“Mam!  Mam!  Where’s me shirt?” Her scrawny barely-turned-teenager stormed bare-chested through the living room, tossing cushions and newspapers aside as he futilely hunted for his clothes.

“Obviously not beneath the cushions,” she replied, holding a t-shirt out at arm’s length.  As he made to swipe it, she pulled it close to her and pointed at the disarray he’d left in his wake.  “Tidy up.”

“Mam!  I’ve got to get on, Da’ll ‘ave a fit!”

“And I was not born to pick up after your fits of temper.”

“Fine!”  He picked up the cushions and papers with bad grace, slatting them haphazardly vaguely where they’d originated from.  “Better?”

“Fine,” she mimicked, throwing his t-shirt towards him.  

He caught it, and scowled as he saw its state.  “Mam, it’s still dirty.”

“And?  You appear to have mistaken me for a house elf.”

“Not bleedin’ likely,” he muttered, dragging the shirt on and sniffing loudly at each armpit. “House elves do as they’re bloody told or they get what’s comin’ to ‘em.”

“Tell me, Severus, is that your father’s attitude, or Lucius Malfoy’s?”

Severus stilled in the doorway.

“If you want your shirt washed of an evening, then you ask.  You don’t leave it on the kitchen floor for your skivvy to find.”

He turned at that, his thin face full of anger.  “And what would it matter if I treat yer the same way Lucius Malfoy treats his elves?  Because you let Da treat yer like it, don’t yer?  Yer washed ‘is shirt, din’t yer?”

“Don’t, Severus.”

He was closer now, his wiry body oddly imposing – and she was all too aware that her tiny boy was becoming a man.  “So why does it bother yer when I treat yer the same as ‘im?  What’s the difference?”  He gave a nasty smirk.  “Get off on it, d’yer?  Him orderin’ yer about like tha’?”

“I’m warning you, Severus.”

His eyes narrowed, and he took another step forward, as if he was testing the water.  She drew a breath, and as he moved to speak – to spew further hateful bile towards her – her hand lashed out and slapped him full force on the cheek.  He recoiled – a step backwards, and then another.  He appraised her – his dark eyes registering the betrayal – before he lifted a hand to his stinging cheek.

“I gotta go.  Da’ll be shoutin’ an’ carryin’ on if I don’t shift.”

And with a nod, he was gone.

* * *

“I don’t do apologies,” he said, gruffly, pushing the teapot across the table.

“I didn’t ask for one.”  She didn’t flinch at his scowl.  “And I certainly don’t want one from you.”

“Women.”  He shook his head.  “Da might be as thick as they come, but he got one thing right, dint he? Yer all mad.”

“How many more days?”

“Yer what?”

“How many more days have you agreed to help your father?”

“Reckons job’ll be done week on Tuesday.”

“Tonight, you tell him that you’re going to Lucius’.”

“I ain’t got an invite to go-”

“You’re going to Lucius’ even if I have to Apparate you there myself.  I’m not having you spending an hour longer in that Muggle infested pit than is necessary.”  

“Yer overreactin’.  They’re all right, really.  As far as Muggles go.”

“I would rather you spent every waking hour with Lucius Malfoy and his twisted views upon magical and Muggle relations than with your father’s cohorts and their twisted views on women.”

“Yer reckon yer can get me an invite to stay with Lucius?”

“Not if you continue talking like that,” she snapped.  “You’re better than your father, Severus.  Remember that.”

He gave a sharp smirk and sipped his tea.  “Barmy, y’are, Mam.  Barmy.”

* * *

His green and silver tie flapped against his ever broadening chest as he charged down the stairs.   _Her_  green and silver tie, she corrected in her head.  

“I told yer to fuckin’ leave ‘im.”

“Go back up to your room.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Severus said, coldly, stalking across the kitchen and gripping his mother’s face in his large slender hand.  “You need dittany and…”  He trailed off, looking uncertain.  “I don’t know what’s best for this sort of laceration.  I need my books.”  He moved towards the doorway, and her voice interrupted him.

“I can deal with this myself.”

He was back like a shot. “You can’t!”  He gripped her face again.  “How many times have you done the same spell in this very spot?  The skin’s going to be beyond repair soon!”  His warm forefinger prodded the split in her eyebrow and she yanked her head away.  “See!”

“See nothing, you silly sod,” she rebuked him, slapping his hand away as he tried to grab her again. “You won’t make a mediwizard if you stick your fingers in wounds.”

“I don’t want to be a mediwizard,” he said, angrily, casting so her hands were bound before her.

“Severus!”

“Just let me treat you,” he said, softly.  He tipped her head into the light, and she could see water shining in the bottom of his eyes.  “I want to try something.”

“I’m not a guinea pig for your-”

And then, with the tip of his wand to her wound, he broke into a soulful and mournful song.  She closed her eyes as she felt the skin knitting over the laceration on her brow.

“…what was that?”

He didn’t answer.  He slid his wand up his sleeve in a well-practised move.  It had been a long time since she’d seen a wizard behave in such a commanding manner, and she relaxed into his grip as he held her face again.

“Looks fine now,” he said, standing back.  He moved to the sink where he washed his hands.  “I wasn’t sure it’d work for a brute force injury, but it looks ok. Keep an eye on it.”

She shook free of her now loosened bonds, and moved to peer at her reflection in the window above the kitchen sink.  “That is an incredibly powerful piece of magic.  Who taught you that?  Lucius?”

“Not likely.  …I invented it.”  Severus smiled as he caught the flicker of pride in his mum’s expression.  “Leave him, Mam.  I’m beggin’ yer.”

“Begging you,” she enunciated.

“Give over.”

“You sound just like him when you speak like that.”

“Yer a fine one to talk. When he tells yer to do something, yer say, ‘How high?’”  He sniffed. “Yer should listen to me fer once.”

“Speak properly, and maybe I shall.”

He would’ve, but he knew she wouldn’t.

* * *

“I don’t understand.”

She stood behind him, her hand warm on his shoulder.  She flicked the page back to read the topic in full, and grimaced.  “I have to admit, I didn’t have much interest in such creatures-”

“Not that!  I can do the homework standing on my head!”

His harsh tone caused her to stop speaking, her hand gripping his upper arm even tighter.

“Him,” he spat.  “I don’t understand why you put up with him.”  He threw his quill across the kitchen table, causing the ink to skitter in a violet spiral. “I read the history books.  In the archives.  I know that you were a formidable witch.”  He paused.  “And I don’t want to sound arrogant, but you saw my report.”  He glanced up at his mother.  “You read it, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“You’re a very powerful wizard.”

“I am  _your_  son,” he said, emphatically.  “I might be watered down with Muggle-”

“Don’t, Severus!”

“It’s true!  I’m a pureblood watered down by Muggle blood, and I’m still this powerful.  I know how strong you are!”

“That’s not how bloodlines work.”

“Lucius says-”

“Lucius Malfoy,” she almost spat the name, “does not know everything.”  

“If you’re not stronger than me, I can best him for you,” he said earnestly.  “I can.  I’ve been practising.”

“I don’t need you to best a Muggle for me.”

“Then why do you let him treat you so?”

* * *

“Welcome home.  You look like hell.”

He pushed past her.  “You have to leave here.  Now.  Right now!”

“Severus?”

“I’m serious!”  He switched the television set off at the wall, and started throwing ornaments into a bag.  “Pack!”

Eileen folded her arms and watched her panicked son trashing the living room.  “I’ll do no such thing.  …what is going on?”  

“It’s him!  Him!”  He dropped the bag and walked up to her, and rolled up his sleeve, baring his tarnished forearm.  “Him!”

She grabbed his shirt, holding him and his stained porcelain skin in such a tight grip, blood rushed to the surface.  “…you  _stupid_  boy.”

“Believe me now?” he yelled, shaking free and picking the bag up once more.  “Get your stuff in here, and go!”

“Why now?”

“…what?”

“Why now, Severus?  Why not last year, when you joined his-”

“…how do you know that?”

“I am your mother,” she said, calmly.  She carefully started to pick up objects from her son’s wake, steadying the ornaments on the mantel.  “I knew as soon as you’d sullied yourself with him.”

“Like you sullied yourself with  _him_ ,” he spat, indicating wildly at the bedroom.  “A witch and a Muggle!”

“I love your father.”

“Love?  Love!  He mistreated you, and abused you, and condemned you to a life like this!”

“…I love your father like you love her.”

He paused for a long moment, and then continued to toss belongings in the bag.  His words were soft, but she heard them.  “I’ll hide you both.”

* * *

“I should be angry,” she said, quietly.  “His careful spell to hide us meant that Tobias died thinking that his son was already dead.” She gave a short laugh.  “I suppose that’s now the truth.  I can rest in peace, is that it?”

“I am sorry for your loss, Mrs Snape.”

“You are sorry for my loss?” She stared at the three youths before her, two boys and one girl, and she fixed them each with a hard stare.  “There is no loss.”

The girl stifled a gasp.

“I don’t mean it like that,” she admonished, harshly.  “He’s my boy.  Always my boy.  But he might as well have been dead.  He never visited.  Couldn’t.  He’d tied himself to the cause. To Dumbledore.”

“To my mother.”

“To your mother,” she repeated, solemnly, catching Harry’s eye.  “His father was abusive, you see.”  Her gaze narrowed.  “I think you understand.”  

Harry nodded shortly.

“He asked me to leave. Told me.  Begged me, even.  I don’t think he ever forgave me for staying.”

“You didn’t go?”

“At the time, he couldn’t fathom my stance.  And then he…”

“He what?” Hermione pressed.

“He fell in love,” Eileen smiled, and her gaze met Ron’s.  “I think you understand.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt was: I loved your piece on Snape's patronus memory. Do you think you could write a similar one of him bonding with Eileen? The one with Eileen's letter broke my heart. :'(


End file.
